HELL’S KITCHEN, Nev. - Thurston Blueblood, a junior here at Hedonist University, is lucky to be alive. Although now resembling a human collander and covered in Flintstones Band-Aids from head to toe, Blueblood insists that his unlikely desperate, late-night pact with God was responsible for his survival.
Just two days ago, Blueblood and 3 of his fellow members of the Iota Banga Delta fraternity celebrated his 21st birthday by doing shots at the Agave Maria Bar & Pancake House. For the proud birthday boy, his ambitious goal was one tequila shot for each year on the planet. Being way smart college boys, they dutifully applied the rules about intelligent alcohol consumption. Don’t drink on an empty stomach. Stay hydrated. Pace yourself.
So the quartet encamped at a booth at Agave at noon and ordered the endless pancakes, coffee, and orange juice, as well as the first round of Buggered Burro tequila shots. The party was on.
By 9 p.m., they’d consumed 96 pancakes, a gallon and a half of maple syrup, 192 pats of butter, 8 pots of coffee, 32 glasses of OJ, and 48 tequila shots. By then they’d pretty much obliterated all of Agave’s consumption records and gotten their pictures put onto the Stall of Fame, so all but Birthday Boy then called it a wrap.
Being the stubborn, determined type, however, Blueblood insisted that, with 3 hours remaining in his landmark birthday and only 9 shots to go, he would still complete the challenge and prove himself a real man. A macho man. A man’s man. Again applying his university honed brilliance to the fullest, and impressively still able to do math in his head, he spread those 9 shots out, knocking back the last one at 11:59 p.m. Success. The thoroughly polluted celebrants then staggered back to the frat house and collapsed.
In an absolute shocker, within an hour all four were up and praying to the porcelain throne. Three did their sorry business, then reeled back to their rooms to sleep it off.
All but Birthday Boy, that is. For him, the night was young and the fun was just getting started. Every ten minutes for the next 3 hours, he barfed and gagged and heaved and heaved and heaved some more. He hadn’t known it was possible to feel so awful. Finally, with the room still spinning, head pounding, mouth dry as sand, and ribs too sore to heave anymore, Blueblood made his pact with God.
Although he hadn’t been to church in 10 years because he thought religion to be a farce, Blueblood nevertheless pleaded with the Lord. “Please God, get me through this night OK, and I swear I’ll never do this again,” Thurston begged.
The Lord listened, pensively stroked His heavenly beard, then responded. “OK. It’s a deal. You know, you’ll feel a lot better if you jump out this window into the nice, cool swimming pool below.” So Blueblood dutifully crawled to the window and dove out.
Except that the frat house had no pool. What they did have, however, and in plentiful supply, were cacti. With needles. Lots and lots of needles. Blueblood’s screams woke the neighbors, who called 9-1-1, who sent the paramedics. He was saved. Hallelujah.
God, it seems, in His infinite wisdom, had spared Thurston’s life by breaking his fall with the cacti, and had used the opportunity to put an exclamation point on Blueblood’s key life learning moment birthday lesson.
Never, never, never mix tequila with pancakes.